Her uncle didn’t appear at the quiet, tense dinner table or in the hours after, and by the time Fliss pleaded a sudden headache and excused herself for bed in order to stress about it all alone, he was firmly ensconced in his study. The place he only holed up in when he was expecting his menacing nocturnal visitor.
* * *
Kitty, much like the rest of the staff, was nervously preoccupied. A full hour after putting her charge to bed, she had still not materialised to check Fliss was asleep and Fliss couldn’t stand to waste one more minute. Something was up and as each hour ticked by, it seemed less and less likely she had come under any suspicion. If anything, it was the staff who were marched into his office, if the steady stream of them leaving with pale, drawn faces at the end of the inquisition was anything to go by. When she could stand the waiting no more she raided her wardrobe and, using another nightgown, pillows and a filigree shawl which she hoped might pass for hair in the darkness, made a body-shaped lump in the bed. After extinguishing both the fire and the candle, she cracked open her bedchamber door and, seeing the coast was miraculously clear for once, crept out.
The rain fell in a miserable, erratic drizzle which quickly seeped through her shawl and thin nightgown. Fliss ignored it while she found a place behind some bushes to watch her uncle’s study. He was alone. Pacing furiously and wringing his hands. Far from being angry, he looked scared, his angular features pinched with worry. Several times he stopped and went to the window, his pale eyes nervously searching the garden.
His nervousness increased her own, heightening all her senses. She felt the air change before she heard the ominous sounds of boots crunching on the gravel in the distance and pushed her body further into the bush instinctively as she heard him scale the wall and drop with a thud as he landed on the ground.
He strode less than three feet in front of her, his big body vibrating with anger, and for the first time Fliss saw his features in profile. Dark hair, fuzzy whiskers covering both his cheeks and curling into a thick moustache under his nose. That nose was bent as if it had once been very badly broken, the large nostrils flared as his breath came in heavy bursts, but it was his hooded eyes which petrified her. They positively burned with hate.
Her uncle recoiled as the Londoner ripped open the French door and stalked inside; it slammed behind him with such force the pane quivered. Fliss watched, horrified, as her uncle was grabbed around the throat and smashed against the wall. The Londoner spat something in Uncle Crispin’s choking face, then let him go. Both men began to speak in a rapid tattoo which she could neither hear nor follow from her spot a few yards away. The Londoner did lots of finger pointing, her uncle mostly cowered, and everything about the exchange smacked of something very important. Something urgent.
With her heart in her throat Fliss darted towards the wall and, exactly as she had two nights previously, she edged her body closer and closer until she could hear what was being said. Thankfully this time, because of their respective anger, neither was whispering.
‘A month’s hard work is gone because of your incompetence!’
‘I’ve told you—I never told a soul outside of the usual few where the boat was headed!’
‘You have a leak, Rowley! A big one! Someone tipped off the Excise Men and it sure as hell wasn’t me or any of my men! The place is crawling with them now. The tunnels, the inn! We’ve lost everything. All the stock, our supply route...and all because someone in this house couldn’t keep their trap shut!’
‘My staff wouldn’t dare talk. They know better. I pay them to know better...’
‘What about Redditch eh? You’ve been cosying up to him a lot of late! Maybe you let something slip?’
‘I promise you I didn’t. I wouldn’t. You know full well why I tolerate the old fool. It was you who put me on to him in the first place! Why would I jeopardise all the effort I’ve put into wooing the man? The leak has to have come from somewhere else.’
‘Mayhap you’ve employed someone else. Fresh eyes who see too much?’
‘There’s nobody new. I run a tight ship. Everyone in this house is exactly the same as they were last month, and the month before and the year before that...unless...’ Fliss covered her mouth in case the cry escaped. Her uncle was no fool.
‘Unless what?’
‘Forget it. I was going to say my niece might have said something, but I have her under close watch. She doesn’t go anywhere or speak to anyone now without me knowing about it.’
‘Now? What the hell does that mean?’
Fliss felt tears sting her eyes as her uncle regaled him with how she had escaped, how she had rebelliously refused to comply with his demands. It didn’t take long for the finger of suspicion to point firmly in her direction. ‘I’ll expect you to deal with it, Rowley.’
‘You can’t be suggesting...?’
‘I am. You knew what you’d signed up for. You take the Boss’s shilling. You carry out his justice. Plug the leak. I want her silenced for good. And tie up the loose ends. All of them. The two old ladies, too, in case she’s talked to them as well as the authorities!’
‘I can’t kill family! What if we’re wrong? What if—?’
‘We can’t risk what if! Put the three of them in a carriage tomorrow. I’ll deal with the rest.’
‘But...’
The sound of a body hitting the wall again and her uncle’s involuntary squeal suggested the Londoner had resorted to violence again. ‘No buts. No excuses. No loose ends! Or do you want me to tell the Boss you are prepared to put his entire operation at risk for the sake of a bunch of women we both know you couldn’t care less about...?’
Fliss didn’t bother waiting to hear the rest of the conversation. She ran as fast as her legs would take her back to the window of the Music Room, all the time praying she could find a way to save Daphne, Cressida and herself before it was too late.
Chapter Sixteen
Aunt Daphne’s bedchamber
Soaked to the skin, terrified and with her words tumbling over each other, Fliss managed to explain the whole story to her aunts in less than five minutes. Their initial disbelief was soon replaced by the same urgent fear which pushed her on. ‘We have to escape! Now! Tonight!’
‘But all my clothes are in my bedchamber.’ Cressida gestured to her nightgown and her hair wrapped tightly in rags. ‘I can’t leave the house like this!’
‘We don’t have time to change! It was hard enough sneaking back into the house and rousing you both without the servants seeing, we daren’t risk letting them see us prepare for an excursion!’ Although the house had been ominously quiet as most of the footmen were now gathered in her uncle’s study. They had one opportunity to escape. It was now.
‘To be honest, if the servants see us in our nightclothes, we can pretend to be in need of a night-time beverage.’ At least Daphne saw sense. ‘How do you propose we leave, Felicity?’
‘Through the gardens. We have to climb over the wall into the neighbours, then there is an alleyway and...’
Daphne held up her hand and shook her head. ‘Out of the question. It is one thing for a lady to be outside in her nightrail, we’ve all done that a time or two, but quite another to be scaling walls. We shall leave by the front door as is proper.’
Cressida nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, indeed. With my rheumatism I can’t be climbing walls.’ Before Fliss could argue, Daphne held up her bony hand again.
‘Think, Felicity. The front door leads us on to Berkeley Square. My nephew can hardly murder the three of us in full view of the ton.’ A valid point. ‘And if your Mr Leatham has men watching the front then there will be someone around to save us.’
‘But how do you suppose we get past the footmen?’
Daphne grinned. ‘Do you remember Lord Wivenhoe’s house party, Sister?’
A mischievous smile appeared on Cressida’s face. ‘I do bel
ieve I do, Daphne.’
And so it came to pass that Fliss found herself blindly following the lead of two incorrigible old ladies in their hasty bid for freedom. Daphne collected an array of assorted items from around her bedchamber, including a tiny lady’s pistol, and concealed them about her person. Fliss was stripped of her soggy nightgown and swathed in the one her scandalous aunt claimed she kept for special occasions. If Fliss had thought her new underthings daring, this billowing, sheer confection made her reconsider. Without the matching silk peignoir, it left little to the imagination, but it was nightwear and therefore apparently essential to the old ladies’ plan so she didn’t argue. If it came to it, she would run out of this house stark naked.
Daphne handed the poker to her. ‘Hide it in the folds, dear, and do not use it until I give you the signal.’ She executed an exaggerated wink, the agreed signal for mayhem to be unleashed.
Cressida retrieved a bottle of rum from her sister’s trunk, popped the cork and took a healthy swig. ‘I’m ready.’
With more calm than Fliss could muster she sauntered to the door and began to sing loudly as she swayed into the hallway waving the bottle.
‘The Dey of Algiers, when afraid of his ears, A messenger sent to the Court, sir. As he knew in our state the women had weight, He chose one well-hung for the sport, sir.’
She giggled as Fliss and Daphne chased after her.
‘Aunt Cressida. You are ill. Let us put you back to bed.’
‘Sister, dear, come. Sleep it off.’
As they had hoped the noise drew the attention of the footmen on duty in the hall below and they rushed towards the staircase to help.
Cressida pointed at one and wiggled her finger at him suggestively. ‘He searched the divan till he found out a man—Whoops!’ She tripped for effect at the bottom step and drunkenly pushed the footman towards the front door. ‘And he lately came o’er from the Barbary shore, as the great Plen... As the great Plen... Oh, dear I always get stuck on that last word.’
She leaned heavily on the footman and grinned up at him while the second footman supported her elbow, and Daphne and Fliss gathered around to help. They were less than six feet from the door.
Daphne winked and Cressida threw out her arms, smacking the footman in the face with her bottle as she sang at the top of her lungs, ‘As the great Plenipotentiary!’
Fliss cracked the second footmen over the head with her poker as Daphne whacked the first smartly with a full bottle of rum that hadn’t been opened. Both men staggered woozily from the blows, leaving the three of them free to make a dash for the door.
They had the late hour and the element of surprise on their side, but not for long. There were so many bolts to slide, that it took all three of them to get the thing open before they tumbled out into Berkeley Square.
‘Help! Help!’
Fliss scanned the darkness for the watchmen Lord Fennimore had promised her, all the while dragging her aunts with her into the night. When nobody appeared, they ran to the corner where a solitary hackney stood waiting, while back at the house there was already the sound of panicked shouts calling for help. Fliss managed to stuff both old ladies in as one of the footmen ran haphazardly from her uncle’s house. His forehead was bleeding and he clutched at his head. Behind him, three more men hurried out and sprinted towards them, far too close for comfort. From the shadows, some shabby men appeared, but no Mr Leatham. They dashed towards her uncle’s men, grabbing them and slowing their pursuit and giving Fliss just enough time to throw herself into the hackney. She screamed at the coachman, ‘Just drive!’
Panicked, he cracked his whip repeatedly and the coach lurched forward the moment her feet left the pavement and thankfully didn’t stop as one of the footmen came perilously close to grabbing the door handle. The horses picked up speed and the carriage clattered out of the square. Blessedly they were soon flying along the deserted streets away from the danger. Thanks to Mr Leatham’s men, nobody appeared to have followed them. Eventually, when they were a significant distance away, he slowed enough to ask directions and Fliss barked the address of the only place she could think of. The only place her heart wanted to be.
‘The Albany! Take us to the Albany!’
* * *
The city was wide awake as Jake finally wove his way to St James’s practically dead on his feet, the sun valiantly poking its head through the miserable blanket of clouds for the first time in weeks. Typically, the fine weather decided to appear now, rather than overnight or the whole day before when he might have benefitted from it. After the discovery of the underground tunnel system, they had sent to London for Lord Fennimore and reinforcements, believing the smuggling gang might be spooked by the loss of their cargo and suspecting they would move swiftly to relocate their reserves. That suspicion had proved correct. The moment the darkness fell, the innkeeper and his staff set to work shifting the barrels towards the deserted quay he and Seb had found in the marshes, clearly waiting for some boats to come and retrieve it all. Jake and Seb spent another freezing, wet, sleepless night watching and waiting in the reeds with Lord Fennimore. At dawn, like the jumpy innkeeper, they realised those boats were never going to come. The Boss would rather relinquish that supply chain and those profits rather than jeopardise his entire operation.
They’d rounded up the terrified publican and his accomplices for questioning, seized everything in the cellar and left the Excise Men crawling through the tunnel like a colony of ants. While it wasn’t the satisfying conclusion they had hoped for, Jake was philosophical. At least they had enough circumstantial evidence to arrest Rowley on suspicion of aiding and abetting free traders and, despite Jake’s soggy clothes, aching body and heavy heart filled with worry, Lord Fennimore now finally agreed Fliss’s work was done. As soon as Jake was washed, shaved and presentable, he fully intended to head to Berkeley Square and find some way to get her out of there.
When the doorman told him he had visitors, his first instinct was to pat the pistol on his belt as his hackles rose. Upon learning those visitors were female, three of them and all in nightgowns, he practically sprinted up the stairs in a blind panic. Something must have happened in his absence and he prayed it wasn’t bad. But if three of them were there...
He burst through the door to see his valet pouring brandy into two outstretched teacups.
‘Don’t be stingy, there’s a good fellow. We have been through an ordeal.’ Daphne Sawyer’s head turned and she smiled at the sight of Jake, her grey hair still wound in curling rags. ‘Ah, finally! We’ve been waiting for you for hours, young man. Hours and hours. I suppose you’ve been out gallivanting.’ The smile quickly turned into a frosty frown of disapproval. ‘You could have timed your urges better. We were almost murdered in our beds and would have been had Felicity not had the wherewithal to get us out! My nephew has gone quite mad, hasn’t he, Sister?’
‘Yes, indeed. We had to overpower the footmen and flee in a hackney.’ Cressida swigged the entire potent contents of her cup and held it out for more. ‘My nerves are shot to pieces.’
‘Where’s Fliss?’ Because her absence in his tiny bachelor parlour petrified him. ‘Has she been harmed?’ If she had, someone was going to die.
‘She is as well as can be expected under the circumstances and quite determined to go home today.’
‘She is unharmed?’ Jake barked out the question.
Watching his worried face, the old lady smiled. ‘You do care! That is encouraging.’ Both ladies shared a knowing smile. ‘Since we arrived here, she’s been in a foul mood and was getting more agitated by the minute. I thought she was going to wear a groove in the floor with her pacing.’
‘But where is she now?’ Their amusement irritated him.
‘Gone to find some suitable travelling clothes in your bedchamber, sir.’ His valet gestured backwards with an incline of his head. ‘I’ve already sent a message to Lord Fenni
more appraising him of her whereabouts.’
He didn’t wait to ask more questions. The only thing he cared about was seeing her. Jake crashed through the door and stopped dead in his tracks as the sight of one very feminine, very bare back caught him completely by surprise. Fliss squealed and clutched the front of the nightgown quickly to her chin before she turned around, oblivious to the fact the weak February sun streaming through the window made the gossamer nightgown translucent. Every mouth-watering curve was shown in stark silhouette and the dusty peaks of her breasts were easy to find.
‘Don’t you believe in knocking!’
‘I was worried about you.’
‘Oh, please! I doubt you’ve given me a single thought in the hours you’ve been out philandering!’ The snippy, jealous tone buoyed him. ‘Why—your shirt is undone and you’re not even wearing a cravat. It’s obvious you have just fallen out of some hussy’s bed!’
‘I haven’t been out philandering and I haven’t been in anything resembling a bed in days.’ He quietly closed the door behind him and leaned against it, enjoying the way the daylight picked out the rich caramel tones in her hair as it tumbled over her naked shoulders. ‘There have also been no hussies. Nor have there been since the night I met you at Almack’s.’ After his epiphany on the marshes, he had promised himself he would tell her nothing but the whole truth going forward—if he was ever given the chance to. Now that she was here, there was no time like the present. ‘I fear you have ruined me for all other women, Fliss. I’ve missed you.’ At her disbelieving eye roll he smiled. ‘If you must know, I’ve been in Fobbing.’
‘Fobbing is a place?’
‘A very cold and damp place. Filled with smuggled brandy ferried down the Thames on barges.’ As he spoke she wiggled her arms back into the nightgown and tightly tied the ribbons at her neck. Jake decided not to tell her it made precious little difference. Thanks to the blessed return of the sun his view was still spectacular and the wiggling, combined with her presence, was doing wonders in taking his mind off his exhaustion. As were the erotic spectacles she had primly placed back on her delectable nose. ‘Thanks to you we intercepted a fresh delivery and then discovered where the rest of the contraband was hidden.’
A Warriner to Seduce Her Page 18